Forever
by Hel83
Summary: Angel returns to Sunnydale to visit Buffy, and Doyle has a surprise for Cordelia


  
  
Spoilers: 'Hero', possibly 'I will remember you'. Can't think of any more...  
Disclaimer: all characters belong to Joss Whedon, Twentieth Century Fox and Kuzui  
Authors Note: although you don't have to have read it, this fanfiction follows on from 'Omnia Vincit Amor', my first 'Angel' piece.   
  
***  
  
As the thunder pounded above, and the rain tapped incessantly on the windows of the small office, Angel allowed himself to look at the photograph he had found in his desk drawer.   
  
It hadn't been lost to start with - just misplaced. He had hidden it beneath a dusty notepad and folder, intending never to look it again. But his thoughts had got the better of him.  
  
The picture had been taken on a warm, sunny day. Buffy's hair shone in the sun as she smiled broadly at the camera. Behind her, the white crest of a wave balanced mid-air for the shot. To her left, Xander wrapped his arm around his best friends waist, and to her right, Willow smiled sheepishly, not looking directly into the camera. They were having fun: something that wasn't pencilled in on a Slayer's diary all too often.   
  
Closing his eyes, Angel placed himself on that beach. He could hear the waves crashing to the shore, the laughter of children further along from where they stood in a group. He felt each individual grain of sand beneath his feet, felt the hot sun on his face as he looked up at the clear blue sky. The tangy scent of salt stunk his nostrils as he breathed in. In the distance, he could hear the monotonous ring of a telephone. His telephone.  
  
Opening his eyes again, Angel began to reach for the telephone. His hand was almost touching the receiver, and he had every intention of picking it up, but something inside of him told him this wasn't a call he would want to take. Leaning back in his chair, he waited patiently for the machine to kick in.   
  
"Angel?" It was a voice he hadn't heard in a long time, and had never expected to be hearing again. "Angel, if you're there, pick up. We need to talk." Buffy's soft voice flooded through from the machine on Cordelia's desk in the outer office. "I guess you're out somewhere, so I'll say what I have to say. Angel, I-I've met someone. And we're..." She cut off, sighing into the receiver. "Maybe I shouldn't be telling you this. What difference would it make to us? Angel, we're getting married."   
  
Angel breathed deeply, swallowing the lump that rose in his throat. Leaning on the desk in front of him, he placed his head on his hands, shutting out the rest of the conversation until he heard the beep that assured him that she had gone.   
  
Lifting his head, he noticed Cordelia stood in the doorway, leaning against the jamb, with Doyle stood just behind her. They had everything they wanted. Why couldn't he have the one thing he wanted in all the world?  
  
"Angel, I'm sorry," Cordelia said softly.  
  
"You heard that, then." It wasn't a question. It didn't need an answer. But Cordelia answered anyway.  
  
"Yes."  
  
Angel nodded. "Well, there you go. She's getting married. She's moving on." He breathed in deeply, then inhaled slowly. "Did you get that book I wanted?"  
  
Stealing a look at Doyle, Cordelia moved closer to the desk, placing a heavy, leather bound volume in front of him. Then, with an exasperated sigh, she turned on her heel and left the room, Doyle following closely behind.   
  
Without glancing up from his desk, Angel picked up the book and began to flick through the yellowed pages.   
  
  
  
In the outer office, Cordelia flopped down onto the beaten sofa, leaning back into the soft cushions. Doyle sat down next to her, and she leaned her head onto his chest. Carefully, she listened to his heartbeat. Just to make sure he was still there with her. She had grieved so much in the past year that it had made her sick. She wasn't going to let that happen again.   
  
"Princess," Doyle whispered, stroking her hair. "What are we going to do about Angel?"   
  
Cordelia sighed, shifting to look up at Doyle. "I don't know," she whispered in reply. "He can't live in the past any longer. He has to let Buffy go."  
  
Doyle nodded gently. "Are you going to tell him we're going to the wedding?"   
  
Shrugging, Cordelia sat up on the edge of the sofa. "We can't not go. Buffy's a friend, and we should be there. But on the other hand, we can't let Angel down when he needs us." She leaned back, dropping her head onto Doyle's shoulder and playing with the hem of his shirt. Doyle sighed and leaned his head gently onto hers.  
  
"What about Wesley? Has he said what he's going to do?"   
  
"He said he'll try to make it, but, and these are his exact words, life as a 'Rogue Demon Hunter' is hard, and you never know where the chase is going to take you. I told him he better be there, because my boyfriend can be pretty mean with the spikes. He said he'll be there."   
  
Doyle chuckled softly. "So I'm pretty mean with the spikes am I?" he asked, bemused.  
  
Cordelia smiled. "Well, I had to say something to make him come." She laughed as Doyle swatted her arm.   
  
"Come on," he said, standing and pulling her up from the sofa. "Let's go home."  
  
  
  
In his office, Angel put the book down on his desk and picked up the photo again. Suddenly, it seemed macabre and mocking. Without a second thought, he ripped the photo in half, then into little squares, tossing them into the waste basket by his desk. Taking a lighter from the top drawer of his desk, he picked up the waste basket and made his way into his basement apartment.   
  
***  
  
In the small, cosy bedroom of her downtown apartment, Cordelia stood in front of the mirror, dressed in a pink satin dress. Her tanned skin showed from beneath spaghetti straps, and the dress fell short of her knees by an inch. The dress clung to her hips as she scrutinised the image in front of her. Behind her, Doyle lay on the bed, watching her.   
  
"I think you look gorgeous, Cordy," he assured her as she chewed her lip and turned around to face him.  
  
"I don't know," she said, pulling at the dress's hem and patting the thin straps down. "It doesn't say 'rich movie star'." She pulled the dress off over her head and pulled on a white shift dress.   
  
Doyle laughed. "Why do you need a new dress to say that? Besides, you're not rich, and you're not a movie star." He grimaced as Cordelia scowled.  
  
"I know that, you know that, and about half of the world knows that, but that doesn't mean I can't look the part." She turned to face Doyle. "Does this say 'sophisticated', or 'last season'?"   
  
Doyle stood and wrapped his arms around Cordelia's waist, kissing her softly. "To me, it says 'beautiful, amazing woman who is loved immensely by her half-demon boyfriend'." He leaned back to catch Cordelia's expression. She was smiling guiltily.  
  
"I'm being stupid, aren't I?" she asked, not really expecting an answer. "I mean, who's going to care what I'm wearing. It's Buffy who's getting married, not me." There was a slight hint of disappointment in her voice.  
  
Doyle picked up on this disappointment. "Cordy, you'll get your day, believe me. And when you do, it'll be with some handsome movie star who just won five Oscar's and can whisk you away to Europe whenever you please." He tried to hide the sadness in his voice at the thought that the woman he loved more than anything in the world could drop him at any time she wanted. He couldn't bear the thought that she could have anyone she wanted.  
  
Cordelia frowned. "But I don't want a movie star who can whisk me off to Europe whenever I please. I want you." She smiled softly as she watched Doyle's eyes glisten as he leaned in to kiss her.   
  
  
  
  
The next day, Cordelia and Doyle entered the offices of 'Angel Investigations' cautiously. The place looked like a scene of mass-destruction. The sofa had been overturned, the computer lay smoking on the floor, and the half-dead potted plant one client had given them lay among shards of terracotta.  
  
Moving to stand in the centre of the mess, Cordelia sighed. "I guess he was pretty angry last night when we left." She moved to look at the computer. "We're going to need a new one of these."  
  
Doyle shook his head. "Angel wouldn't do this. No matter how angry he was, he wouldn't trash the place." Briskly, he moved through the offices calling out Angel's name. When he got no reply, he dashed down the stairs and into the basement apartment. The sight above was similar to that upstairs. Except that Angel lay slumped against the wall of what passed as his living room, blood clotted against his chest.   
  
"Cordelia! Get down here!" he called, moving swiftly to where Angel lay. Gingerly he touched the wound on his chest. Angel grimaced, sweat pouring from his forehead.   
  
Cordelia dashed down the stairs and to where Doyle leaned over Angel. "Oh, my God," she breathed, kneeling beside Doyle. "Angel, who did this to you?"  
  
Angel looked up at her, gasping hard. "I don't know. They didn't smell human, but I didn't get a good enough look to see what they were. They asked where the scroll was. I told them I didn't have it. They got angry."  
  
Doyle looked puzzled. "The scroll?"  
  
"Shanshu," Cordelia whispered. Angel nodded, and Doyle sighed in realisation.  
  
"I think they left for Wolfram and Hart. I told it they had it. I think he believed me." Angel struggled to stand, leaning against the wall. "I think we're safe now." He fell onto the sofa, and Cordelia dashed off in search of the first aid kit.  
  
"Are you sure you didn't know them?" Doyle asked, stepping aside so that Cordelia could get closer to tend to Angel's wound.  
  
"I told you, I didn't get a good enough look to see what they were," Angel replied angrily. Doyle nodded, then looked down at Cordelia, who gave him a quick glance before gently pressing a bandage onto the wound.   
  
  
Later that day, whilst Angel slept below, Cordelia and Doyle set about tidying up the outer office.   
  
Sighing, Cordelia threw the broken potted plant into the waste basket. She stopped, glancing around at the mess, then flopped onto the couch.  
  
"Did you believe him?" Cordelia asked, watching as Doyle swept up pieces of broken glass from the computer monitor.   
  
Stopping, he turned to face Cordelia. "Why shouldn't I?" he asked.   
  
"Please," Cordelia replied, smoothing out her skirt. "I didn't fall for it. I mean, why would anyone want a scroll that foretold the fate of a vampire? Okay, so maybe someone would, but I didn't believe Angel was telling the truth for a second."  
  
Doyle was puzzled. "Why would he lie to us?"  
  
"I hung around with Buffy long enough to know how to stake a vampire." She paused, watching Doyle carefully. "Doyle, he tried to kill himself," she whispered, fighting hard to keep down the lump that rose inexplicably in her throat.   
  
Doyle lay the broom down and joined Cordelia on the sofa. "You mean, he tried to stake himself?" Cordelia nodded. "But why?"  
  
"Because the one person he loves in all the world is getting married," she replied softly. "He knows that when she says 'I do' they'll never be able to get back what they had."   
  
Doyle sighed. "What are we going to do?"   
  
"The only thing we can do," Cordelia replied, turning to face Doyle. "We're going to Sunnydale to get Buffy and him back together.  
  
***  
  
Cordelia watched as Doyle struggled to haul her suitcase into their rental car. A grin swept across her face as he toppled backwards, dropping the case on the floor. Grunting, he moved forward and tried again. Once more, he toppled backwards, the case clattering on the asphalt.  
  
Rolling her eyes, Cordelia stepped forward. "You're doing it all wrong," she proclaimed as she picked up the case with the ease of a body builder, and dropped it into the trunk. Turning to look at Doyle, she continued, "It's all about balance."  
  
Doyle stared, wide-eyed. "Remind me to never get into an argument with you," he said, stepping around to the drivers side and climbing in. Cordelia smiled, jumping into the passenger's seat beside him. Fastening his seat belt, he said, "So. Who to first?"  
  
Cordelia fastened her seat belt and shifted down in her seat. "Buffy's, I guess. We need to let her know how Angel feels, before it's too late."  
  
Doyle nodded, started the car, and pulled away from the parking lot behind Cordelia's apartment block. Joining the stream of oncoming traffic, he made his way to Sunnydale.  
  
***  
  
In Sunnydale, Buffy stood in front of the full-length mirror in her bedroom, admiring the dress her mother had made her. Carefully, she smoothed out the soft material, her hands resting momentarily on the pink, appliquéd roses that circled her waist. Her blond hair swept just past her shoulders, covered only by thin spaghetti straps. The sheer material swished as she walked away from the mirror, then turned back to look at her reflection. Closing her eyes, Buffy began to dream.  
  
In her dream, she stood in a forest, wearing her wedding dress. In front of her was a clearing, the floor covered with bluebells and snowdrops. Slowly, Buffy made her way into the clearing, the soft grass brushing her bare feet.   
  
As she stood in the clearing, Buffy was aware of a presence behind her. Cautiously, she turned around to see him stood behind her.   
  
Slowly, she crossed the bluebell-covered path to where he stood, dressed in a suit similar to one that a groom would wear to a wedding. He held his hands out to her, and she took them as she approached. As he drew her nearer, he let go of her hands and circled her waist, holding her close. Buffy could smell the musky scent of his suit as she breathed in deeply.   
  
Planting gentle kisses on her forehead, he leaned in. "Buffy".  
  
  
"Buffy? Buffy, are you okay?"  
  
The voice wasn't his. It was coming from somewhere else. Opening her eyes, Buffy looked at the reflection in the mirror. Her mother stood behind her, concern furrowing her brow. Any remnant of the day dream vanished, although Buffy was sure she could still smell his scent. Angel.   
  
Smiling, Buffy turned to face her mother. "I'm fine, mom. I was just thinking."  
  
Returning her daughters smile, Joyce Summers crossed the room to her daughter, admiring her. "You look beautiful," she said, admiration thick in her voice. "Does it fit okay? Is the hem too long?" She began to get down on her knees to inspect the ankle-length hemline.  
  
Buffy held her mother's arms, stopping her from moving. "Mom, it's beautiful. I love it." She saw the doubt in her mother's tired eyes. "Really," she assured her with a smile.   
  
Leaning forward, Joyce kissed her daughter softly on the cheek. "I'm glad you like it, honey." She turned to leave. As she reached the door, she turned back. "Oh, Cordelia called. She's on her way. Says she'll be here in about half an hour." With one last look of admiration, she turned to leave, wiping the stray tear from her cheek.  
  
***  
  
"I said, 'take the next left'," Cordelia exclaimed as they circled the block for another time. Sighing, she leaned on the open window. "How hard is it to follow instructions."  
  
Doyle glared at her. "Oh I'm fine with following instructions. It's the person who's giving them that's the problem." He winced as he saw hurt and anger flash in the young woman's eyes. Sighing, he pulled over outside a small, mid-town diner.  
  
"What are you doing?" Cordelia demanded as Doyle walked around to her side of the car, opening the door.  
  
"I'm getting you out of the car," he replied, taking her hand and leading her into the diner. "We need a drink."   
  
  
The diner was a small, homely place, with photographs of leaf-covered roads and forests dotted on the walls. The smell of fresh, home-made pie swamped the room.   
  
Doyle made his way to the counter, and Cordelia took a table near the window. Gazing out of the window, she compared the differences with the photos on the wall and the bright, warm sunshine outside. She imagined what it would be like to walk among the leafy roads depicted in the photos. Her and Doyle, walking down a road that led to nowhere and everywhere. In a way, it was kind of like the road they were already walking down. They didn't know where they where headed, or what lay before them. They just took one day at a time, and hoped for the best.  
  
Cordelia was shook out of her reverie as Doyle placed a mug of steaming coffee in front of   
her.  
  
"What were you thinking about?" he asked as he sipped his own coffee.  
  
Cordelia shrugged. "Us," she replied, wrapping her hands around the hot mug. "Where we're going."  
  
Doyle frowned, obviously not catching Cordelia's meaning. "I thought we were heading to Sunnydale. I know I took a wrong turning, but once I figure a way out of this place, we'll get -."   
  
"Not where we're literally going," Cordelia said with a smile. "I mean, where we are going. Our future. Together."  
  
Doyle leaned back in a seat. "Is there a future for us?" he asked. Cordelia looked up at him, puzzled. "I don't mean it like that, Princess," he explained, leaning onto the table. "I know that when I wake up tomorrow, I'll see you, and when I go to sleep, you'll be there. What I mean is, ten, twenty years from now, will we still be 'us'?"  
  
Cordelia shrugged, leaning onto the table to be closer to Doyle. "I hope there is," she said, smiling gently. "I want there to be."  
  
Doyle smiled. "That's settled, then." Taking Cordelia's hand, he led her to the door and out to the rental car. "Come on," he said, closing the passenger door as Cordelia climbed in. "We have a wedding to stop."  
  
***  
  
Back in LA, Angel walked around the empty front office. The broken computer lay in a box beside the waste basket, along with the potted plant a client had given them months ago.   
  
He had been stupid to get as worked up as he did. Usually, he managed to control his anger by doing T'ai Chi exercises. But this time, something inside him snapped. He didn't feel the need to carry on living. All he felt was anger. And pain.  
  
Buffy had been the greatest thing in his life - his exceptionally long life. Without her, he felt...empty. He knew it sounded cliché, but it was true. She was the beating heart in his still chest.   
  
Walking down into his basement apartment, Angel looked at the burnt remains of the photograph he had found last night. He had laid them out on the kitchen table, arranged as they were before they were cruelly charred. With a sweep of his hand, he sent the pieces floating into the air before they crumbled onto the stone floor.   
  
In a wave of movement, Angel grabbed his duster and car keys, and headed to the sewers. He had to see Buffy one final time.  
  
***  
  
The moon was high in the sky as Doyle pulled up outside Buffy's home on Ravello Drive. She found herself thinking of Oz, and wondered where he was. Whether he was safe.   
  
Doyle took her hand as they made their way up the small walkway that led to the Summer's front porch. He rapped softly on the door, giving Cordelia's hand a shake at the same time. She turned to look at him, and smiled gently.  
  
The door opened, and Buffy stood before them, dressed in casual black slacks and a close-fitting black top. Her hair was took up in a ponytail, and, from the smudges of mud on her cheeks, it was clear she had only just finished her nightly patrols.  
  
"Hi!" she said cheerfully, waving at them with a stake in her hand. She caught the surprised look on Doyle's face and dropped it onto the corner table at her side. "I thought you were supposed to be here two hours ago," she said, standing back to let them in.  
  
"It was Doyle's fault," Cordelia said, shrugging off her jacket. "He took a wrong turning."  
  
Doyle took Cordelia's coat, rolling his eyes. "Well, I wouldn't have taken the wrong turning if someone was a little better at directing." He held out his hand. "Nice to meet you. Again."  
  
Buffy laughed. "Same here. Let's hope it's a longer stay this time." The group fell silent for a moment, as if each remembering the last time they met. The day Angel turned back time. Then Buffy brightened. "Come on through. Mom's just making some supper."   
  
  
In the substantially-sized kitchen, Joyce Summers was huddled over the stove, stirring the contents of a large pan. Hearing the footsteps approaching, she looked up and smiled as the group walked into the room. Wiping her hands on her apron, she held out her hand to first Cordelia, and then Doyle.  
  
"It's so good to see you again, Cordelia," Joyce exclaimed as she shook hands tightly with the young woman. Cordelia simply smiled. "Will you stay for dinner?"   
  
Cordelia opened her mouth to accept, but Doyle interjected. "We'd love to, Mrs Summers, but we can't stay long. We just came to talk to, er, Buffy about something."  
  
Cordelia frowned, then continued what Doyle had begun. "Yes, Buffy. We need to talk to you. Now." When Buffy just stood there expectantly, the brunette continued. "In private."  
  
Buffy smiled. "Okay," she said, leading them back through the dining room and into the living room. "What's all this about?" She sat down on the armchair by the door, and Cordelia and Doyle sat on the sofa.  
  
"It's about...Angel," Doyle said cautiously.   
  
Buffy nodded slowly. "Did he...get my message?"  
  
"Damn right he did," Cordelia said. Doyle grimaced as he watched his girlfriend jump straight in at the deep end. "And I have to say, you had some nerve telling him like that."  
  
Buffy remained calm. "Excuse me?" she asked, smoothing out her skirt. "What does the way I talk to him have to do with you?"   
  
Oh boy, Doyle thought. "I think what Cordelia's saying is that we care about Angel, and we think you could have told him a little more...subtly."   
  
Buffy swallowed. She looked Doyle in the eyes. "Don't get me wrong," she said softly. "I still have...feelings for Angel. And I always will. But it's about time I moved on. It's about time we both moved on. I'm sorry if I seemed a little cold when I spoke to Angel, I just wasn't expecting to have to talk to his machine." She sighed, turning to look at Cordelia. Since when had Cordelia become so...grown? As a person. The last time she had seen the young socialite for any length of time, she had been self-absorbed. Now, she was sat in front of Buffy, with a mature boyfriend, and concern about Angel. "Cordelia, I didn't mean to snap," she said apologetically. "I'm just a little on edge lately." She glanced into her friends hazel eyes. Was that a glimmer of sympathy she saw?  
  
Cordelia smiled. "Apology accepted."   
  
The three remained silent for a few moments, then Cordelia spoke again. "So, um, can I see your wedding dress?" She smiled impishly.  
  
Buffy smiled in return. "Sure."  
  
***  
  
In the old mansion he had once inhabited, Angel sat staring into the dying embers that sat in the fireplace. He didn't know why he was there. Back in Sunnydale. There was no way he would be able to stop Buffy marrying the man she loved.   
  
Long ago he thought it was he she loved. Now he realised that, although he still had feelings for her, she had to move on. He was over two hundred years old. She was barely twenty. Her life couldn't stop just because she had a crush on a guy who couldn't move on from his past.   
  
Grabbing his duster from beside him, Angel pulled it on. Although he wasn't cold, the soft leather was warm and comforting. He tried to remember all the other times when he had felt warm and loved. But all he could think of was Buffy.  
  
He glanced down at his watch, checking the date. It was the thirteenth. The day Buffy married the man she loved. Sighing, Angel pulled his jacket off again and stood, looking out the open door. The sun was almost up: it wouldn't be safe to go outside at such an hour. But he had to do something. Had to stop Buffy from making the biggest mistake of her life.   
  
Looking around his near-empty home, he picked up a couple of thick blankets before making his way out into the damp, cold air of early sunrise.  
  
  
Lying in bed, Buffy stared at the ceiling above her. It was better than staring straight ahead. Sneaking a glance forward, Buffy's gaze fell on the wedding dress hanging from her closet door. The early morning light played across the fabric, giving it an eerie orange glow. With a sigh, she turned her head to look at the clock at her bedside. Almost six. Soon, her mother would come in to wake her, bustling about excitedly as she ensured that Buffy had all the things she would need for the day before making their way to Willow's.   
  
Standing, Buffy walked over to the window and looked out. Beyond her back fence, she saw the closed curtains of the houses in the next block. Beyond them, the sun rose from behind rooftops. The birds began to sing, the paper boys began their rounds, and Sunnydale slowly woke up.   
  
Pulling on a pair of old sweat pants and an old shirt, Buffy quietly slipped out of her room and into the kitchen, careful not to wake her mother.   
  
In the kitchen, Buffy opened the lid of the large box that sat on the countertop. The iced top of a wedding cake stared back up at her. Sighing, Buffy closed the lid again.  
  
"Beautiful, isn't it?" The voice startled Buffy, and she turned around to see her mother stood behind her, fully dressed and holding a mug of coffee in her hands. "Xander's mom did a great job."  
  
Buffy laughed softly. "I guess the ultimate challenge will come when we taste it," she said, settling down on a stool at the breakfast bar.  
  
Joyce smiled. "Are you ready to go?" she asked, looking Buffy up and down. "Sheila called me just a moment ago and said that she was ready to get going if you were." She moved closer to her daughter and stroked her hair. "I'm so proud of you, Honey," she said wistfully.  
  
Buffy smiled and moved gently away from her mothers touch. "I better go and get ready," she said, hopping off the stool and heading back upstairs.  
  
***  
  
Standing in front of the mirror in her motel room, Cordelia held first one dress in front of her and then another. One was the pale pink one she had tried a couple of days ago, and the other was one that she had found in the back of her closet when she was searching for a lost shoe.   
  
Sighing, she dropped onto the bed, holding the dresses on her lap. Behind her, Doyle stirred.   
  
"Cordy, what time is it?" he asked sleepily.  
  
"Time I should get a new dress," she muttered, half to herself, half to her boyfriend.   
  
Doyle sat up. "Well, I like the pink one," he said, getting out of bed and pulling on his T-shirt. Quietly, he sneaked out of the room, listening to Cordelia's reasons as to why she hated the pink dress. Then, as quietly as he had sneaked out, he sneaked back in, carrying a large dress box.  
  
"I mean, pink is so...high school," she said, turning to face Doyle. "What's in the box," she said suspiciously.   
  
Doyle placed the box in her lap. "Just a little something I bought for you," he said, standing back. "Open it."  
  
Cautiously, Cordelia slid the lid off the box and parted the soft tissue paper. With a gasp, she took out the pale green shift dress. Holding it up in front of her, she admired the tiny aqua beads sewn around the hem in the shape of little crosses. Holding it in front of her, she stepped up to the mirror. "It's beautiful," she said, smoothing out the soft, gauzy material. "I love it."  
  
Doyle smiled. "I thought you would," he said, grabbing his jacket and searching in the pockets for something.  
  
"How could you afford this?" Cordelia asked, slipping the dress on over her head and gesturing to Doyle to zip up the back.  
  
"Let's not worry about that now," he said, turning her around to face him. "There's something else, too."  
  
"Shoes?" Cordelia asked, her eyes lighting up.  
  
Doyle laughed uncomfortably. "Not exactly," he replied, catching the glimmer of disappointment that flashed through his girlfriends eyes. He took her hand. "Cordelia, you know I love you. You know I'll always love you, no matter what. And this is why I want to give you this." He slipped a small Claddagh ring onto her finger. "Now, it's nothing special. They were all out of diamonds at the jewellers. I just want you to know how much I care for you." Smiling, he pointed to the parts on the ring. "The heart represents love, the hands friendship, and the crown loyalty."  
  
Swallowing the rising lump in her throat, Cordelia hugged Doyle tightly, a tear forming in her eye. "Thank you," she whispered softly. "I love it. I love you."  
  
Doyle smiled. "Yeah, er, Cordy, can you let me go now. I kind of can't breath."  
  
With a laugh, Cordelia let go of Doyle, and wiped her eyes. "Come on, we have wedding to go to."  
  
***  
  
Standing in the small room to one side of the church, Buffy breathed in deeply and smoothed her hands over her hair another time. Looking in the full length mirror, she brushed down her dress and patted the ring of roses around her waist. In her hand she held a bouquet of white and pink roses, tied at the middle of their stems with silver ribbon.   
  
Behind her, there was a light tap at the door. "Buffy, can I come in."   
  
Buffy smiled. "Sure, Xander," she replied, turning to face the door.  
  
Xander entered, dressed in a smart black tuxedo. "Wow, Buffy, you look amazing," he said breathlessly. He leaned in to whisper to her. "You know, it isn't too late to change your mind," he said slyly.  
  
Buffy blushed. "What do you mean?" she asked. Surely Xander didn't know how she felt inside.   
  
Xander laughed. "Well, I mean, if you want to change your mind and hook up with me, it's not too late."   
  
Buffy laughed nervously, relieved. Poor Xander. He had had a crush on her since the first day they met. "Oh, I'll let you know," she replied.   
  
Another knock on the door brought them out of their reverie. Willow entered, smiling softly.   
  
"They're ready for you, Buffy," she said, admiring her best friend. She walked up and hugged her. "You look great," she said, standing back. Sighing, she continued, "Giles is waiting for you."  
  
Buffy nodded solemnly. "Okay," she replied, suddenly short of breath. "I'll be out in a minute."   
  
Her friends nodded, then left, closing the door silently behind them.  
  
Looking in the mirror, Buffy suppressed a sob. She couldn't do this. She couldn't marry a man she didn't love.  
  
  
Outside the church, Angel ran under the shadows of the large oak trees, a blanket held high above his head. Stopping, he glanced up at the tall building before him, and at the cross that hung over the door. With a deep breath, he ran from the shadows and into the safety of the church's lobby.   
  
To his left was a door, and from behind the door was the sound of soft sobbing. Buffy.   
  
Knocking lightly on the door, Angel entered without waiting for a reply. Before him, Buffy stood in front of a mirror and wiped her eyes. She turned, her red rimmed eyes staring at him in surprise.  
  
"Angel," she breathed as he moved closer.   
  
"Buffy," he replied. "I...I'm sorry. I shouldn't have come." He dropped the blankets on a nearby chair, eyeing the cross opposite him warily.  
  
Buffy laughed gently. "I never thought I'd see you in one of these places," she said, playing with the silver ribbon that hung from the bouquet.  
  
"You look beautiful," Angel said, moving closer.  
  
Buffy swallowed. "Why did you come?"  
  
"I don't know. I thought that if I saw you, I would feel...something." In truth, there was no reason for why he had gone to Sunnydale. Except, maybe, his own, selfish needs. He needed Buffy, and although he knew he couldn't have her, he couldn't bear anyone else taking her away from him.  
  
"You pick your moments," she said, almost bitterly. Then she shrugged and sat down on an empty chair. "I thought this would be the best time of my life," she said, crinkling the tissue she held in her hands. "I thought I was in love." She looked up at Angel, pain in her eyes. "But it just made me realise how much I love you." She stood, putting the flowers down on the seat. "And how much I need to get away. From...him. From Sunnydale, from Giles, mom, Willow, everyone. I need time to breathe, to get my head together and find out what I want for a change." She stopped, and Angel took hold of her arms.  
  
"Then come back to LA. With me." Was that wave of hope he saw in her eyes?  
  
Buffy shook her head and looked at the floor. "I can't. I won't," she replied. She moved from his grasp and to the door. Opening it a crack, she turned back to Angel, looked at the mirror behind him, then back at him. "If Giles and mom want to know what's happened, tell them I...tell them I need time to myself, and that I'll call when I get to...wherever." With one last, longing glance, she turned on her heel and fled.   
  
Angel turned to the mirror, looking at the open door behind where his reflection should have been. He swallowed deeply, then turned and made his way into the church.  
  
***  
  
In one of the pews near the front of the church, Cordelia glanced around nervously. The groom was stood up at the front, whispering something to the priest, and the best man stood close beside him, looking out to the door at the back of the church. When he nudged the groom's arm, pointing to the back of the church, Cordelia turned around and spotted Angel stood just inside the doorway, looking around the room.   
  
Elbowing Doyle, who in turn elbowed Wesley, Cordelia climbed over the line of people who shared the pew and headed to where Angel stood, followed closely by her companions.  
  
"Well?" she asked as she reached him. "Where's Buffy?"  
  
"Gone," Angel replied simply.  
  
Cordelia's eyebrows rose to her hairline, and she put her hands on her hips. "What do you mean, 'gone'? There'd better be a good explanation for this, young man."  
  
Angel almost laughed. Cordelia would make a great mother some day. Instead, he just shrugged. "She said she needed to get away from here for a while." He looked up as Giles approached hurriedly.  
  
"Where's Buffy?" he asked, oblivious to the vampire's presence, or simply ignoring it. "We need to get started."  
  
"Oh, Angel here frightened her off," Cordelia remarked, turning to face the ex-Watcher.   
  
Giles frowned at Angel, as if seeing him for the first time. "What happened?"   
  
"She said she needed some time alone. I get the impression that she's unhappy with the wedding. Or with the groom."  
  
Giles bristled. "The groom is my nephew," he said, sniffing. "And I can assure you that he is a fine young man."  
  
Angel stared at Giles for a moment, a bitter thought flashing through his mind for a brief moment. Mentally shaking himself back to present time, he said, "Look, Buffy's not ready for marriage. She's the Slayer. There are more important things in her life than marriage."  
  
"And she told you this?" Giles argued.  
  
"Angel, man, just drop it. Let's get out of here." Doyle stepped up between Angel and Giles, and turned Angel away. With one last glance up at the blond-haired man at the altar, he left, followed closely by Doyle, Cordelia and Wesley.  
  
Watching them leave, Giles turned back to the altar. It was time to tell his nephew of the bad news.  
  
***  
  
Inside the safety of Doyle and Cordelia's rental care, Angel hid in the shadows as the sun disappeared under thick black rain clouds. Wesley sat beside him, Cordelia up front in the passenger seat. Doyle had gone into his and Cordelia's motel room to collect their things.   
  
With a sigh, Cordelia turned back to face Angel. "It wasn't your fault," she said softly.  
  
"I know," Angel replied, and Cordelia looked puzzled.  
  
"What? You're supposed to be wallowing in self-pity, not self-denial."  
  
Angel shrugged. "Buffy has a mind of her own. I didn't need to make the decision for her." He watched as Doyle climbed back into the car and drove towards the highway. "Besides, I think she knows deep down that he wasn't the man she loved."  
  
Wesley turned to face him. "And you think you're him? I'm sorry to be so blunt, Angel, but Buffy's a young girl. You're a two hundred and forty seven, for goodness sakes. She wants someone who'll be there for her, not someone who can't even go out in the sun unless he has a death wish." He stopped, breathing deeply, and realised that Cordelia and Angel had turned to glare at him.  
  
"Thanks for that," Angel said. "I never said I was the one for her. I just think she needs to wait a while, that's all. She has plenty of time for love and marriage." He turned to look out of the window, then wrapped his blankets around him as they approached sunlight.  
  
***  
  
Back in LA, Cordelia and Doyle left Angel and Wesley at the office block and went for coffee. As Doyle stood in line, Cordelia grabbed a small table in an isolated corner. She watched Doyle intently as he carefully carried the two steaming coffee mugs over, avoiding the obstacles he met on the way.  
  
Placing the mugs down, he sat down opposite Cordelia, and took her hands in his. "There's something I want to talk to you about," he said, stroking her hands and staring into her hazel eyes.  
  
"Go ahead," Cordelia replied, shifting on the hard plastic chair.  
  
Doyle took a deep breath. "Well, being in Sunnydale got me thinking. I thought about not waking up next to you, and not falling asleep next to you, and not seeing you every day. And I realised that I dreaded all of those things more than anything in the world." Searching Cordelia's eyes for emotion, he continued. "I guess what I'm trying to say is that the ring I gave you means more to me than just a hunk of silver. I'll love you, be your friend when you need me, be loyal to you for eternity. But in return, I need you to do something for me."  
  
Cordelia smiled nervously. "What is it? Do you want a kidney or something?"  
  
Doyle laughed. "No, Princess, I don't want a kidney. I guess what I'm trying to ask you is, Cordy, will you...will you marry me?"  
  
Cordelia stared at her partner in disbelief. "What did you say?"  
  
"I asked if you would marry me," he said again.  
  
Cordelia nodded. "I thought you did."  
  
"Well?" Doyle pushed.  
  
Cordelia smiled, a radiant smile that lit up her whole face. "Yes. I'll marry you."  
  
Now it was Doyle's turn to stare in disbelief. "You will? Wow! Great!" He leaned over the table to hug Cordelia, then settled back in the seat, gathering composure. "Cool," he said indifferently.  
  
  
In the depths of his apartment, Angel stood over the kitchen sink, watching as water pooled into the bottom.  
  
"You shouldn't have come here," he whispered.  
  
"I thought this was what you wanted," Buffy said, closing the space between them. She felt Angel tense as she put her hands on his shoulder.  
  
"I was wrong," Angel replied, turning off the tap and walking away from Buffy. "You don't need me."  
  
"Yes, I do," Buffy protested.  
  
Angel turned to face her. "Well, I don't need you."  
  
Buffy frowned, tears forming in her eyes. "But, at the church--."  
  
"I wasn't thinking," Angel interjected. "I shouldn't have gone. You shouldn't have left like that."  
  
"I didn't love him," she said, tears running down her cheeks. "I love you."  
  
Angel shook his head. "You don't," he replied, folding his arms. "I think it's best if you go."  
  
"You don't mean that," Buffy said, in between sobs.  
  
"Yes, I do." He moved towards where Buffy had left her coat and bags, and, picking them up, he handed them to her. "Don't come back here." He didn't mean to be heartless. He had succeeded in ruining her wedding, thinking it was what he wanted. But it wasn't about him anymore. It was about them. And from now on, there wasn't going to be a 'Buffy and Angel' anymore.  
  
Buffy took her belongings, and, with a final, tearful glance back, she made her way upstairs. Angel watched her leave, tears coming to his own eyes.   
  
"Goodbye," he whispered into the silence.   
  
Even though it wasn't beating, it ached. This was something he wouldn't forget. Wouldn't allow himself to forget. He had brought misery to so many lives in the past, but this was the worst. He truly felt like a killer, for he knew he had just killed Buffy's spirit and soul.   
  
  
Outside the offices of 'Angel Investigations', Buffy sunk to the floor, her body shaking as she sobbed. How could he have said all the things he had back at the church, leading her to him, then just blown her off when he had the chance to have her for good. She would never forgive him. Never forget.   
  
Standing, Buffy gathered her things, and with one last glance at the frosted, named glass in the door of 'Angel Investigations', left, never to utter the name 'Angel' again. From now on, he didn't exist. From now on, she didn't love him. From now one, she was alone. Forever.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
